


Day 4: Soulmates

by GemmaRose



Series: MegOp Week [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Carrying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Electrocution, Fear of Discovery, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Missed Connections, Pain, Pride, Second First Meeting, Soulmates, Spark Emergence, introductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22173073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Only the Matrix can create new sparks, and only with the aid of a Prime for power and their spark-resonant Protector to guard the new sparks while they develop. At least, that's how the stories go.
Relationships: Megatron & Terminus, Megatron/Optimus Prime, Optimus Prime & Ratchet
Series: MegOp Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592986
Comments: 9
Kudos: 115
Collections: MegOP Week 2020





	Day 4: Soulmates

**Author's Note:**

> This fic alone is longer than the previous three _combined_ , and personally I’m going to blame Grav and Dynne for that.

Megatron killed the motor on the drill, bringing a hand up to rub absently at his chest plating as the machinery began to settle and cool. He’d hoped that the strange readings would go away on their own, they didn’t have any medical staff on site who could weld in a straight line, let alone diagnose a mystery spark issue, but the numbers which had begun appearing after his latest visit to Cybertron proper were still getting bigger. Or at least, he assumed they were, he’d set those alerts to appear minimized and dismissed them without opening them. If he’d caught something from his one-night-stand that was going to kill him, he’d rather not have to watch the countdown to his own demise.

The strange feeling had been growing stronger, of late. His spark casing felt tight, his spark itself heavier in his chest, and last night he’d barely made it to his berth before collapsing from sheer exhaustion. He could already tell it’d be the same tonight, whatever was wrong with him it was effecting his spark’s energy output. It was only a matter of time, really, before he collapsed on-shift. After that, not even Terminus would be able to protect him.

He removed his hand from his chest to place it on the side of the drill, gauging its internal temperature. The cooling on this one was faulty, not worth replacing despite the fact that it being broken jeopardized parts of the motor worth more than what Megatron earned in a whole meta-cycle. He patted the metal with a sigh, and resolved to wait another few kliks before kicking it back on again. Better safe than sorry, after all. He looked back up the tunnel, and frowned at the mess which littered it, rubble stacked knee-high on either side of the new path he’d been assigned to drill out. Where were the other miners, the ones assigned to clear and shore up the tunnel as he went? He knew he wasn’t popular, but was he really that ill-liked that his comrades would risk the foremech’s wrath in hopes of getting rid of him by way of cave-in?

He kicked a larger chunk of debris, and watched it bounce away down the tunnel, knocking against the piles as it went. Well, if nobody was shoring up behind him it would be irresponsible to leave the drill where it sat. Even with the motor as warm as it was, he could back it up to the last set of posts and then find out what was going on. He’d just rounded the shielding when a stab of pain lanced through his chest, dropping him to his knees. A pop-up appeared on his HUD, chestplates parting as a second shock grounded in his spark, pain jittering down his limbs.

Spark Progress: 100%!

This was it, he was dying. Another shock of pain made him collapse forwards, catching himself on his forearms as his optics fritzed. He tried to command his chestplates to close, and got another shock for his troubles, accompanied by a pop-up which told him the command was _invalid_. Great, not only was he dying, he was dying and they’d find him with his chestplates and spark chamber open. Maybe Impactor would start a rumour about there being a sparkeater down here, at least then he’d be remembered for something.

Megatron grunted as another shock came, then another, the flashes of pain coming closer together now as his spark spun faster. His hands trembled against the floor, and he offlined his optics to stop them fritzing with every shock. He didn’t want to die like this, alone in the dark, his spark convulsing itself to burnout in his chest, but his frame wouldn’t move, servos frozen and limbs trembling. He tried to count the shocks of pain, but past the fifteenth just remembering to not hyperventilate took most of his processing power.

Eventually, miraculously, the pain subsided. There was a large, warm hand on his back, a warm field enmeshed with his own, and as his optics slowly booted back up his visual field filled with an otherworldly glow. “I thought the Afterspark would be warmer.” he mumbled, slumping sideways against a sturdy, familiar frame. His spark casing and chestplates, thankfully, shut on their own.

“Oh you’re not in the Afterspark just yet.” Terminus chuckled, and Megatron twisted to frown up at his mentor. “But you uh, you might be if the foremechs find you with those things.” Terminus inclined his helm at where Megatron had collapsed, and Megatron looked aside to see that otherworldly glow which had overwhelmed his booting optics just moments before. It was still bright, almost unbearably so, but as his optics finished calibrating he could make out what it- no, what they were.

Sparks. Brand new, unhoused sparks, more green than blue. Terminus helped him to his knees, and Megatron scooped three of the bright little crystal orbs up in his trembling hands. It was almost painful to look at them, sitting there on the floor, and know that somehow they had come from him. “I made them.” he mumbled, and Terminus’s field went sharp with surprise.

“But only-”

“It must be a lie.” Megatron cut Terminus off, fuel pump thundering in his chassis as his processor raced. “We need to get these out of the mines.”

“There’s an empty crate, I’ll grab it.” Terminus said, and pushed himself to his pedes with the groan of aging, ill-maintained servos. His mentor vanished around the operator shielding of the drill, and Megatron began to collect the sparks into his arms, counting them as he did so. He’d barely gotten all thirty- _thirty_ , no wonder he’d been so exhausted, no wonder it’d hurt so much expelling them- collected when Terminus reappeared with a box just barely large enough to hold them all.

“Careful.” Megatron reminded him, his spark lurching fearfully in its casing as Terminus took two of the crystals from his hold.

“Of course.” Terminus set them gently in the corner of the box, and reached for two more. “If these are damaged there’ll be the pit to pay.”

“Why are you down here?” Megatron asked, his processor finally clearing enough to think of the obvious questions.

“Funny thing.” Terminus chuckled, dry and humourless. “The Prime himself is making a visit, something about a personnel inspection.”

“ _Now_?”

“Yep, the foremechs are stalling him while everyone finishes making themselves respectable. Guess you missed the call, operating this beast.” Terminus jerked his helm at the drill, and Megatron nodded. That would explain why nobody had been behind him, at least. “Now, we need to get this box somewhere it’ll be found, but they won’t be able to prove we had anything to do with it.” Terminus snapped the lid on, and Megatron’s spark casing seemed to tighten as the sparks were sealed away out of sight. Was it safe to seal them up like that? What if they bounced around and damaged each other?

“The Prime’s ship.” Megtron found himself saying as they started down the tunnel, and Terminus gave him a look that said loud and clear just what he thought of that. “It’s the next thing leaving for Cybertron, and if he’s doing a personnel inspection the guards won’t be on the landing strip.” he pointed out, and after a moment Terminus nodded.

“I’ll get them there.”

“I could-”

“You need to go clean up.” Terminus said sternly, and Megatron shut his mouth, emptying his vocaliser queue. Terminus was right, but it still felt wrong. His frame had generated those sparks, they were his responsibility until a properly trained medic got hands on them for forging. He trusted Terminus, but it still took effort to split up when they reached the upper levels of the mine, and some unfamiliar strand of code kept insisting that he turn around and retrieve the sparks, keep them close until he could get them to a medic. His spark ached, but he tamped down the discomfort. He’d worked through worse.

He slid into the barracks still tacky from the cleaning wipes they used instead of solvent, and hurried to stand at the end of his berth as the doors slid open. The boss walked in first, and Megatron ducked his helm, shoulders tight. Where was Terminus? He should be here by now!

“Are you sure this is all of them?” a voice asked, and Megatron’s vents seized. He knew that voice, knew how it sounded thick with static and slurring from heavy overcharge. He remembered with crystal clarity how the mech with that voice had insisted on _breeding_. He’d thought it was some weird upper-caste kink, but given the box of sparks Terminus had carried off... oh primus, he’d clanged the Prime. There was no way that wouldn’t come back to bite him in the aft if anyone ever found out.

“This is the very last mine on our list. Please, there has to be _someone_ else.” the Prime begged, and Megatron ducked his helm a fraction further, furling his field as tight as he could, doing his best to blend in with his bunkmates. It wasn’t hard, they all had the same drab paints and heavy builds.

“Sorry, this is all of them.” the boss said, and Megatron’s fuel pump wrenched horribly in his chassis, a pop-up appearing on his HUD that made his fingers spasm against his palms. Spark Progress: 0%. Engage with Matrix.

Only sheer force of will kept his cooling fans from kicking on as his processor recalled what little he remembered of his last encounter with _the fragging Prime_. If not for the fact that he’d certainly be deactivated on whatever charges the Council pleased, he couldn’t deny he would’ve enjoyed doing it again. Thankfully the Prime and foremechs left after another few silent moments, and Megatron sat heavily on the edge of his berth, vents finally coming back online.

“Well, that was weird.” the mech who bunked next to him said as he sat down as well. He was new, one of the previous Prime and Protector’s final batch and only assigned here a few mega-cycles ago. “Wonder what he was looking for.”

“None of us, at least.” Megatron lied, and the new mech- Gem something?- laughed.

“Well hey, at least we got a break out of it.” he joked, giving Megatron a gentle punch in the shoulder. “Primus, no wonder you were so tense. You’re not even dry yet.”

“Don’t remind me.” Megatron groaned, dropping his face into his hands. His chest was still unpleasantly tight, and the thought of the sparks in a box that might not be opened for hours yet made something in his internals clench painfully. It felt _wrong_ , not knowing where they were, if they were safe, if Terminus had gotten them on Prime’s ship...

“Alright, back to work you lot.” a foremech snapped, opening the barrack doors, and Megatron pushed himself to his pedes with a sigh. Time to get back to work and pretend nothing had happened.

\---

Terminus didn’t return. None of the foremechs seemed to notice, nor the other miners, but his absence was glaring to Megatron. Had he been caught? Had he tried to lie to the Prime and say that he was the mech they were looking for? If it got out that the new Prime had debased himself by fragging someone of the lowest working caste there would surely be scandal, even in the mines they got enough glitch-mags that Megatron was confident in that assessment. If Terminus claimed to be that mech the Council wanted gone, if Terminus claimed to be _him_ \- Megatron harboured no illusions about his fate, in that event. He could only hope Terminus had gotten stuck somewhere, or caught returning from dropping off the sparks and been sentenced to a night in the brig.

“Where’s your friend?” the new mech asked as they filed into the barracks, social groups collecting around various berths. The hauler seemed to think they were buddies now, he’d barely shut up since the Prime’s inspection. It might’ve been endearing, if Megatron weren’t so worried.

“I don’t know.” he grunted, fingers itching for the datapad sealed to the top of his subspace. Terminus had drilled it into him early though that datapads in the common room other than the flimsy, short-lived glitch-mags were asking for trouble. And if the foremechs saw what he was reading, what he was _writing_ , he would be shipped off to somewhere even more remote than Messatine. Somewhere he’d never be able to leave.

“Well, that’s not good.” Gem said blithely. Megatron fixed him with a stern look, and the truck shrugged. “It’s _not_ , right?”

Megatron opened his mouth, but his retort was lost in the sudden screech-crunch of the door being ripped open. The whole barracks shot to their pedes, and Megatron distantly heard integrated machinery spinning up. The mech in the doorway wasn’t one of the foremechs, wasn’t another miner, wasn’t a criminal looking to loot the mine for all it was worth. The Prime strode into the room, and even though he half again outmassed the mech Megatron felt small in his presence, like looking at a wall of shiny red and blue plating. Intense blue optics scanned quickly over the confused mechs as he walked deeper into the barracks, until they locked with Megatron’s. “You!” he pointed at Megatron.

 _Frag_.

The Prime closed the distance between them in two quick strides, and Megatron didn’t think, just reacted. His knuckles met derma, laying the Prime out, and he barely had a chance to register the dazed look on the Prime’s face before his world lit up in agony, five separate stun guns hitting him at once. He dropped instantly, and the Prime shot to his pedes, field hot with rage as that deep voice bellowed words which made no sense. The Lord High Protector was of the upper caste, same as the Prime. A suitable match picked by the Council, a trophy conjunx for a puppet leader.

The other mechs in the barracks began to cheer, and Gem- Gemrise, that was the new mech’s name. Gemrise hauled him to his pedes. Was he hallucinating? He might be hallucinating. Five stun charges at once did funny things to a mech’s processor; his felt slow and hazy, his main gyro off-kilter and audials ringing. The Prime reached out, and Megatron stumbled as he was tugged close up against the mech’s warm, polished frame. Warm lips pressed against his own, a field pressing _relief adoration pride_ against his, and Megatron’s legs gave out under him.

The Prime caught him easily, engine turning over as he scooped an arm under Megatron’s legs to carry him, and his spark surged in his chest. Not a hallucination, then. The Prime was halfway to the landing pad before Megatron’s processor cleared enough to fully process the fact that this was, in fact, happening. His armour clamped down automatically, still-fuzzy processor attempting to determine what the _frag_ was going on here. The Prime had to be mistaken, the Lord High Protector was a noblemech, had been since- since forever, as far as the historical texts reported. He was about as far from a noblemech as you could get without going after Empties, he’d- oh scrap, he’d punched the Prime in the face. He was going to get slagged for that, wasn’t he?

“Is that him?” a voice asked as soon as they were aboard the Prime’s surprisingly orange ship, and Megatron felt the mech carrying him nod. “Primus, what happened to your face?”

“Megatron did.” the Prime said, his glyphs layered with affection and pride as he set Megatron on his pedes again.

“Well damn.” the medic- it was a medic speaking, blocky red and white with a dark chevron and hands on his hips. “I can see why he’s your resonant.”

“I- what?” Megatron said, very articulately.

“Perhaps we should show him, Ratchet.” the Prime said, and the medic nodded.

“Your carrier protocols must be giving you pit, being away from your newsparks so long.” Ratchet said, beckoning for him to follow. Off-balance in more ways than one, Megatron placed a hand on the wall for balance and followed the medic down the hall. The medbay was at least twice the size of the one in the mines, but Megatron hardly noticed, his optics locking onto the berth with an empty box below it and thirty glowing crystals nestled in piles of metalmesh lined up neatly on top. He looked down at them, and something inside him relaxed.

They looked less bright, under the medbay lights, and smaller than he remembered. Smaller than sparks were supposed to be, he was pretty sure. Slag, had he done something wrong? Had they been such a heavy drain on his spark because he wasn’t getting enough fuel to support their growth, or was his frame simply ill-suited to- to whatever this was called.

A hand landed on Megatron’s shoulder, and he nearly punched the mech in the face. Thankfully only nearly, and thankfully the Prime only smiled at him, taking his hand at the wrist and kissing his knuckles. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.” he murmured, and Megatron had to brace himself on the berth behind him as reality hit him again. He’d clanged the Prime. The Prime thought Megatron should be Lord High Protector. The Prime had spent time and resources trying to find him.

“Why?” he managed to ask, and the Prime looked confused. “I’m no noblemech, I wasn’t forged for this.”

“Of course you were.” the Prime frowned, moving his free hand to rest over Megatron’s spark. “The Matrix can impart energy unto any bot, but only one whose spark shares my resonant frequency can hold onto that energy.” his hand pressed gently, and Megatron dismissed a ping on his HUD to open his chestplates. He may still be off-kilter from the stun guns and this whole situation, but that was no excuse for being improper. “And oh, Megatron, you did so _wonderfully_.” the Prime purred, pressing closer, spinning Megatron’s spark into a frenzy.

“He’s not kidding, you know.” Ratchet remarked. “I don’t think there’s been a single recorded instance of a Protector producing so many healthy newsparks in a single carriage. None of the last five have managed even half as many at once, either.”

Megatron turned to look at the swaddled sparks on the berth again, and the Prime pressed up against his back, engine humming happily and field suffused with pride. “Imagine how many you could produce with proper fuel and medical care.” the Prime purred, and Megatron had to manually throttle down his fans. Evidently, some coding he hadn’t noticed until just now was _very_ pleased with that idea.

There was a clang, and when the Prime stepped back away from him Megatron turned to see why. And found Ratchet waving a wrench at the mech, a stern look on his face. “Did you read any of those files I sent you, Optimus?” he demanded, and the Prime looked sheepish. “Newsparks need to bond with their creator, and they’ll not have time to do that if you’re dragging him off to go make more!”

“It doesn’t have to be _now_.” the Prime whined, and Ratchet lifted his wrench threateningly again.

“Have you even introduced yourself?” he asked the Prime, whose finials fell back and shoulders hunched, frame language befitting a mech of lower status and smaller stature than the Prime. “Have you had a single proper _conversation_ with this mech you’re taking as the Protector of Cybertron’s future generations?”

“Well, no, but-”

Ratchet whacked the Prime on the arm with his wrench, then pointed it at Megatron. “Start talking. I’m going to check on Terminus, and make sure Cybertron’s got enough sentio prepped.”

Ratchet turned and stormed out of the room, and Megatron blinked blankly at the mech before him. The Prime stared after his medic for a few seconds, then turned back to Megatron with a small, hesitant smile. He looked... handsome, actually. Megatron could understand now why he decided to have a one night stand with this mech. 

“Well, best to start from the top.” the Prime held out a hand, field open and welcoming. “Hello, my designation is Optimus Prime of Iacon.”

“Hello, Optimus.” Megatron took his hand firmly. “My designation is Megatron of Tarn.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like me to write a fic for you, come hit me up on Pillowfort! No account required. [[Link](http://pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


End file.
